


Asími Astéri

by Gothams_Only_Wolf



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AI interactions, F/M, Gen, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Pac Rim Crossover, Striker Eureka is a Cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4222065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gothams_Only_Wolf/pseuds/Gothams_Only_Wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detonation doesn't spell the end for a certain Jaeger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Interactions with an AI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This struck me as I was leaving A:AoU. Of course, Striker wouldn't leave it be either so here we are. 
> 
> Enjoy~

* * *

**-July 22, 2011; New York City-**

Striker whipped on his apron and tied back his shoulder-length hair, fixing his name tag from where he'd fastened it the other day as an afterthought. 

He fended off the daily inquiry that tapped against his immense firewalls with a huff of amusement as he adjusted his grill visor. _No,_ he told the other AI today, after months of the same thing. _I'm not a threat an' I could really use a break. 'Sides, you do it when I'm at work. Could ye switch it t' afternoon?_

 **Very well. May I have your name?** the other responded with a droll English accent. 

_'S Eureka._ No way in hell was he giving more than that. 

**JARVIS.**

_Great, now I gotta hit th' grill. Thanks fer listenin'._ The puzzlement from the other AI is cut off as he raised his base firewall again. Striker blew out a breath and squared his shoulders as he kept the form that he'd adjusted to over the years he's been here. 

"Hansen, 5, 8, 3 and the special," Anya said as she pushed the ticket into the line. "Glad you're back from your weird vacation. The other guy just doesn't cut it, y'know." 

"'Course he doesn't. I have more trainin' in my pinkie tip than that pile o'—" 

"Hansen!" His manager (Florence) barked from where she's making another pot of coffee and he offered a wry grin as he tugged on his visor. "Not a curseword, I hope." 

"No ma'am." His blades flash as he scrambled the eggs for the 8 and 3 while steam-flashing the sangas for 5 and the special. "Not on yer life." He plated everything and dinged the window bell as he put the completed orders on the spike. "5, 8, 3 an' the special!" 

Striker found his rhythm on the third order and now he's flipping the sanga patties with a clever flick of the flat-blades. The patrons behind the glass titter and the sprogs are outright giggling. This is why he's here: humanity. 

Technically... He doesn't have to work here at all. He could hack into the various rich accounts that flickered past his immense AI network, could be a tech for some Fortune 500 company. He's not interested, honestly; not after all he's been through. 

"Hansen, you're stabbing the sausage." Florence drawled and Striker sliced the sanga in half before flipping it onto the plate. "Bad thoughts?" 

"Jus' some old memories." He murmured at a tone that the patrons couldn't hear but she could. 

"Ah. You sure you don't need another day off?" Florence asked with concern. Striker only ever takes a week and a half off of his vacation days. The week is spent watching the San Francisco bridge. The other three are at the beginning of the year, lining up against his 'death' and the only time he can't maintain his human form. 

"'M alright." Striker winked at her with the good-ol'-Hansen charm and she rolled her eyes at him. "Promise." 

"If you say so." The worry that lingered isn't something he can't help but he gave her a small smile as he got back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, complain, ect.


	2. Fire-Fights and Meet-ups

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been sitting in my inbox for a bit and I did promise to get some more fics out of my WIP pile so it gets a little smaller. 
> 
> Enjoy~

* * *

Anya dragged him out during one of the lulls, taking a long pull of her vapor cig. She blew out the smoke and gave him the 'you better spill' look. 

"Look, it's not anythin' ye c'n fix. Jus' some fire-fight things." He's had to adjust, say things that would make more sense to people than 'I fought giant 300ft Kaiju for a living'. "Ye live through enough, they start t' blur t'gether. Nothin' particularly interestin' going on up here." Striker tapped his temple as he brought out his e-cig. He broke them more than he used them but it's a human habit that he hasn't managed to get rid of. Striker blamed Herc's long streak of pilot-stressed smoking before tobacco got scarce. 

Yeah, sure, he's more a mix of Stacker and Chuck than Herc but the old man's habits linger. Same with Chuck's irritating tick to suck on lollipop sticks (which Striker equated to a coping mechanism since he only does it when he's stressed). 

"You always say that," Anya snorted as she rolled her eyes. "You think about that rep that's up in DC?" 

"Mmm. Gave it some thought while I was out." he answered with a shrug. "Might join a session 'r two." 

"That's good, really good, Hansen. Anyways, when am I learning the S.E. part?" Anya poked his arm at that, causing Striker to peel open one golden eye (the illusion makes them hazel but he can't get the image of the gold from his old frame out of his head). 

Striker huffed as he rested his head on the white-washed wall. "Never. 'Snot somethin' I like thinkin' about." 

"Florence is the only one who knows. C'mooon." She cajoled. 

"... That's cause she's th' boss." he sniped back with a stretch of his shoulders. "Ye keep askin', yer gonna get the same answer every time." 

"Spoilsport." 

"Mmm."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, complain, ect.


	3. You Want Me To What?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Errr, new chapter? Apologies to those who're following this. 
> 
> Enjoy~

* * *

Striker forgot about the other AI until after his shift at the diner. The insistent ping made him growl under his breath as he took the bus home. Other passengers give him a wider-than-normal berth with his fixed scowl. 

_What?!_ Striker snapped as he leaned against the pole with a solid stance. 

**Master Stark is inquiring whether or not you consider yourself human.** JARVIS pressed as he tried to worm around Striker's fire-wall. 

_Well, fer starters, ye kin stop tryin' t' hack my wall. Yer never gonna get through; it's programmed to fight every press an' poke you do to it. Second, no, I don't think I'm human. Can't be._

**Why?**

_Simple. I'm codin' mixed with human data input. T' put it lightly, I ain't yer average AI program._ he huffed out as he stepped off on his stop. 

The tiny one-bedroom apartment is also home to three strays that Striker picked up at different times. There's Danger, the lilac-point Himalayan with white toes (missing a leg but she gets around alright) and there's Max, the English-pit bull mix. Finally there's Crimson, the two-faced ginger cat he found yowling in a cardboard box in the rain. He'd taken them all home and subtly threatened the skeeze-bag that was his landlord so that they could all stay. 

He feeds them and plops onto the couch while waiting for JARVIS to respond. Danger climbs into his lap with a rusty-sounding purr as she kneads his thigh. Crimson claws up his sweats and gives Danger a half-hearted lick with the right face. Striker drops the illusion, leaving him in just sweats and a tank top cut to fit his T-16 Angel wings. 

**... Would you be willing to meet with Master Stark?**

_Nope._

**May I ask why?**

_Yer **really** gonna—There's people monitorin' what we're doin' right now. Even with it bein' encrypted from my end, they kin still decode it when given about five years and a key. SHIELD an' then there's some undercurrent that's not them or Risin' Tide. No way in hell am I meetin' with Stark unless it's in the middle of bumfuck Australia. No maps, no trackers; jus' us an' a Jeep._ he fires back with visuals of the patterns he's detected in this new world. _An' they had the guts t' call **me** stupid._

**That is a thorough plan, Eureka, and the encryption's on both ends.** That isn't JARVIS talking anymore. 

_Stark._ Striker flickers his visor at the arrogance. _Figured ye'd be buttin' in sooner or later._

**... You're good. JARVIS said you were an AI but you sound human.**

_Highly complex AI but still an AI._ Striker's visor glows as he metaphorically rolls his eyes. _Maybe we can meet,_ he reluctantly offers, _though it'll put me on SHIELD n whatever else's radar._

**How?**

_Little thing called electronic manipulation from my end and a little anonymity on yours. We meet in a public place with lots of people._ Striker hums. 

**... Sure.**

_Ye want me t' make an appointment or is yer schedule too damn full?_

**Actually, my new CEO needs an assistant. How soon can you get a suit?**


End file.
